The latest from these Vegas boys. The charm of rock-bottom production values remains, but everything else is stuck in the same gear as well.

The songwriting is passable glam metal stuff, except that there needs to be a little punch in the booth to keep this stuff on the positive side of kinetic energy. That's not here.

And the best moments here are obvious GN'R and AC/DC rip offs. Now, of course, with some serious cash for recording and good marketing, Bangkok Shock could sell a shitload of stuff. The baseline songwriting is puerile but not much below acceptable for this sort of thing.

But this package doesn't make it. I still think the guys need to define their own sound much better, and that starts with more songwriting work. I really wanted to like this, but Bangkok Shock didn't progress enough to impress me.

I have no idea what the originals sound like, but these remixes are more than impressive. Sure, with names like Brian Eno, A Guy Called Gerald, Sonic Youth, Pete Shelley and the Orb bounding about, there's bound to be some good stuff.

And that there is, from noise to electronica to ambient to the utterly indescribable. Like I said, I can't compare these with Can's original versions, but what I hear is rather astonishing.

The sheer diversity of the moods and sounds on these two discs is strong enough to impress just about anyone. Add in some inspired sampling and creative editing, and you get this very tasty treat.

Don't expect anything ordinary, and you'll be rewarded. There is a large amount of experimentation on these discs, and most it pays off in wondrous ways. Now I've got to dig up the Can albums and figure out just what the hell I missed.

I've always thought of Craw as the noisier and more elliptic cousin of Iceburn. Both bands are highly conceptual in their recording, and both produce works of epic proportions.

No failure to achieve here. Craw starts off at a slow burn, and then churns the gears into a nice, metallic goo. This is, by far, the most calculated and best executed Craw album (it has been a couple years since Lost Nation Road, after all), but that extra work and attention to detail only serves to bring out the genius in the songwriting.

And even with the new, cleaner edge, Craw still spews forth a gorgeous torrent of noise and vitriol. The band has found new stores of depth and clarity, honing the vision into a finely-crafted tool of mass destruction. I lay prostrate at the feet of this megalith of sound and fury.

If anyone does this better, I haven't heard it. Map, Monitor, Surge completely overruns my senses. I'm not sure I want to reestablish ties with reality any time soon. Simply let me wallow in the dark recesses of my overloaded synapses.

As raw and untamed as any Lookout band I've ever heard. The Criminals are Stooge fans in the good way, mixing raw power with indecently insightful lyrics. Yeah, it's rude and crude, but it's strangely compelling as well.

And the Criminals would be even more impressive if they could pop themselves out of the redundant groove they can't jump. After a while, the songs simply start sounding alike, no matter how impressive they might sound if taken separately.

I know, it's something akin to sacrilege to ask a punk band to actually (gasp!) score a little diversity, but the Criminals simply must if they want to get anywhere. This stuff is fine, but it does get old. And I can't name a punk band that wants to get old.

Otherwise known as Bill Leeb and Rhys Fulber, who until recently (my spies report) were better known as Frontline Assembly.

Delerium has always been the most ambient and mellow of the FLA side projects, but this outing is much slicker and (dare I say?) commercial than anything I've heard from these guys in the past. Yes, the songs are still pretty long and the wide range of sample sounds remains, but I have to say this is the sort of thing you might here in one of those Lerner clothing stores.

I'm not really complaining, of course. Alright, so the almost honey-laden female vocals get on my nerves from time to time. There's room in my musical universe for that and a whole lot more.

At times, I do yearn for a bare, jagged edge or two to pop up. This is almost too seamless, too pretty. Still, a monster step in a new direction for Rhys and Fulber, even if they won't be working together again for a while.

Boy, if you're a big fan of Hootie and the Spin Doctors, well, this might do the trick. If you lower your standards a bit.

The hooks just aren't that solid, and the playing is barely interesting enough to keep the average AOR freak awake. It's kinda like Blues Traveler decided to drink a lot and play James Taylor. There's something going on, perhaps, but there's no way I can care.

To top it off, the stuff is just way too calculated. As if this is a sound pre-programmed to take the band "to the top". This, of course, is the easiest path to failure.

This is a band that lives somewhere around York. My landlord gave me the disc, but the phone number he gave me didn't get me in touch with the band (and there isn't an address or phone number or anything on the disc itself), so I can't tell you how to find these guys. This is a good lesson for hustling bands: always include some way for people to get a hold of you. Some of us are anal and throw away envelopes as soon as we open them.

Sharply-produced stuff that reminds me a lot of the same sorta thing Duck Butter (the above review) is trying to do. The Dygmies are somewhat better at constructing hooks, and the overall effect shifts the emphasis over to a Connells type of sound.

Nice enough, but unfortunately forgettable as well. Fluff pop that evaporates soon after contacting air. Not even a sharp knob job can save that.

Simply stuck in the middle. The Dygmies need to find a way to hone an edge somewhere in the music, because as it sounds now, anyone could be playing this. A mark of distinction is needed.

Some potential here, though. The Dygmies are not a lost cause, though the guys need to get found fairly soon.

Four utterly silly songs, played in an equally jokey pop-punk style. The band is devoted to its "Snack Contract with America", which basically involves advancing the creed of eating all the junk food you can. There's even an ode to Robert Earl Hughes, who still holds the Guinness record as the world's heaviest man, topping out at 1,069 lbs.

to keep the joke going, the band members have names like Korn Dog and Kap'n Korn Nut. And even if the songs don't get any more inspired than "Snik Snak Skaduliak", there's still enough amusement factor to keep me smilin' through the seven-inch.

A full-length might be stretching things a bit, but as snak rock heroes, I can't think of anyone to top the Go Nuts.

Brooding pop that never quite transcends the whole whining factor. I'd hardly accuse these guys of being insinscere, but their attempt to be emotionally-wrenching ends up simply dull.

The average demo production certainly helps pull this down, but honestly, the singing is just way too uninspiring to carry any of the songs. The music is alright, but I'd prefer to hear the playing tighten up a bit, be a little less lackadasical.

This tape just weighed me down like a truck of brick. I like the lyrics, but the rest of the package just couldn't match up.

You could call this stuff world beat-ambient (or something akin to that), but you wouldn't be even close.

Newby establishes his songs with either eclectic percussion grooves or some sort of drone, and then adds layer after layer of voices and unusual instruments until he has created a fine melange. A stew of musical ideas that simply gets better with age.

A good amount of the musical thought comes from the Indian subcontinent (with a digeridoo thrown in for kicks), but Newby isn't a slave to any one sort of music; he has a vision of the whole that makes this project sing.

While this must have been processed electronically, Newby has kept the sound from getting antiseptic. On the contrary, the end result is something close to symphonic, full and vibrant. It is this talent for production that gives Sirens its lush, living and breathing feel. Simply beautiful.

NYC metalcore to the hilt, but O.C.D. is prescient enough to kick in a few evolutionary changes to the formula. The mix is quite tinny (and that works, surprisingly), and there is a glam sheen floating on the surface that is also quite pleasing to the ear.

Now, kids, don't try this at home. These folks are professionals. The changes are subtle, but enough to differentiate O.C.D. from the pack. As for the songs, they're tightly-written bits whose lyrics would feel right at home coming from your average gothic act. They're delivered by David Ames, who has a nice post-hardcore take on the Dan McCafferty growl.

Another one of those discs I didn't figure I'd be liking. Hell, the music will win me over every time. And throwing in a cover of an Alice Cooper Band tune is always a winner in my book. "I Love the Dead" fits in perfectly well with the rest of the fare.

Well thought-out and executed. Too bad mainstream music has been trending away from this area for a while, or I'd say O.C.D. had a good shot at a decent payday. Still, good music never goes out of style.

It's not quite "For Those About to Suck Cock...", but still. Pansy Division is back with three more aggressively homosexual anthems (and a little interlude by the name of "Two Way Ass". Just the sort of thing that sends Pat Robertson into a frenzy.

And this time out, I think the guys have worried a bit too much about the message and forgotten to keep the music top-notch. "I'm Gonna Be a Slut" is a fun raver, but the stuff goes downhill from there. The relatively epic b-side (clocking in at 4+ minutes), "Expiration Date" has the most interesting lyrics, but the music is dreadful.

I simply expect more. And I'm sure Pansy Division will provide that soon enough.

Power punk-pop, and guys have a fairly high opinion of themselves from the sound of things. Snotty and catchy? What a combo!

At times the anthemic temptation takes over, and that's where Splitsville gets a bit tiring. Most of the stuff is cool and bouncy, though, so that complaint gets lodged only once in a while.

They sure like the Posies, though Splitsville's sound is lighter, and the lyrical content isn't nearly as deep. Just a nice sundae for a sunny afternoon. I haven't an album like this in at least a month, so it makes me happy.

There's something missing, though I can't identify the problem. The hooks are nice, and the band knows how to shuffle this stuff on out of town. But I want to hear just a little more of... something. Perhaps I'll keep listening until I find it.

More of that power punk-pop thing, which makes this a nice segue from the Splitsville. Thrill My Wife is much more solidly in the punk category (the sparse production is a key here), and so it's easier to laugh along with the band.

The music is hardly inspiring, though its good enough to keep me bouncing along. The lyrics are generally amusing. And once again, I feel like I'm staring at a doughnut. There's something in the middle missing, and I can't quite put my finger on it.

The four tunes here are more than acceptable, but less than exciting. Perhaps that's the deal. Thrill My Wife has a good start, but it is going to have to work on the craft a bit more to really make a mark. Good enough for rock and roll, but with plenty of room for growth.

With all of the components to become a wanky, faux alternative sensation, Track One A.B. instead manages to transcend the meager offerings of its influences and kick out a fairly solid album.

That nasty backbeat syncopation and acoustic grunge-style guitar stuff is all over the place, but the band always manages to save things by the chorus. Indeed, that's easily the best part of the album. Most of the time I'm really ticked at the verse, but when the hook comes in, well, I'm there. An odd place, to be sure.

But to remember: these guys are mere hooks away from being Blues Traveler or the Spin Doctors or something similarly nasty. I have no good reason for liking this disc nearly as much as I do, and in retrospect some of the songs do seem a bit tiring.

Aw, hell, I'll stick to my feeling. As this sort of thing goes, I haven't heard anyone this good in ages. And I did like the thing, after all.

Not many new tracks, but the bits of philosophical observation from the movie (identified as "original score") are intersting, and most of the songs, even if old, do flow together pretty well.

Obviously, everyone has heard "Fumbling Towards Ecstasy", which I'm guessing is something of a touchstone song for the film. There's a track from the last Delerium album ("Flowers Become Screens"), a couple songs from Ginger, and stuff from Kristy Thirsk (who also is heard on the Delerium song), the Ids, Mark Findler, Tara MacLean, Suzanne Little and the Aquanettas.

I wouldn't have put these songs together quite in this way, but they do have a nice fit, and along with the film bits do make for a decent soundtrack. A liking for things spacey (in all the ways that's possible) will come in handy, but there's enough good music here to go around.

Obviously, this makes for a good promotion tool for this summer's Ozzfest tour (many of the same bands are back), but if bands like Neurosis and Earth Crisis can get a boost from appearing on a disc with Sepultura, Fear Factory and Ozzy, well, that's fine by me.

Live in a fairly real sense. I don't think there was much in the way of overdubbing (you can hear a few flubs here and there), but the sound is bright and punchy like a live album should be. And these folks were nice enough to give Neurosis a full seven minutes to get in the full effect of "Locust Star" (I'm betting the deadly silence you can hear throughout accompanied most of the Neurosis set).

Oh, yeah, Biohazard, Slayer, Cellophane and Powerman 5000 also appear to round things out. I'm generally not a big fan of this sort of marketing gimmick (or live albums in general), but this puppy has been put together quite nicely, with solid performances to boot. Cool enough.

One of those bands that has always been on the "the next album will do it" list. Hell, I heard that before the first album. And while some of the singles have been stunning bits of work, the albums on the whole simply don't keep up that sense of wonder.

The same goes here. The songs nicely undercut the standard expectations of "alternative rock" by always cutting against the expected grain, which is a band trademark, and that's always welcome. But, see, being contrarian just for the hell of it doesn't always make sense.

And as the membership of the band has dwindled, the reliance on editing has increased. There is a bit of the "one-man band" sound going on (this is most easily heard on "She Can Smile"), and that's a little annoying.

All caveats aside, though, the simple fact remains that while Walt Mink still hasn't put out that brilliant monster album, any and all releases are more than worthy of owning. It can be frustrating hearing how close this album came, but even that result is pretty damned good.

That most unusual of punk forms: the laconic pop phase. The Wynona Riders have a fairly distinctive style that's hard to describe until the whole slacker notion becomes clear.

This lack of attention to crispness doesn't mean the songs are lethargic or dull. Certainly the opposite. But instead of being full aggro, the Riders are full cool. Oh, yeah, there are the requisite hoots and howls, but for the most part this is cool punk.

Five songs, all in the familiar format. Just because I know what to expect doesn't mean the guys don't knock me out. I mean, this isn't easy stuff to write and play. It takes a lot of work to sound so non-chalant. I'm damned impressed.